


Stilettos

by jeffcatson



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: (and others), Dirty Talk, Embarrassment, Exhibitionism, Fluff, Kinky sex, M/M, Night Vale: Desert Queertopia, Porn With Plot, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Shoe Kink, also, also Carlos is a geek about everything, including gender studies and privilege and queer theory, including:, internalised queerphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 08:42:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeffcatson/pseuds/jeffcatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Night Vale may be a queertopia, but when Cecil shows up for a date in sensible, office-appropriate stilettos, Carlos finds that internalised queerphobia doesn't disappear easily. In which Carlos works on it, and eroticising the difficult thing helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stilettos

  
1.

Carlos leaves his lab coat on a hook, runs his hands through his hair a couple of times, then locks up the inner and outer doors. Outside, Cecil is already waiting, leaning against his car: he's watching the setting sun, but turns at the sound of the door closing and his face breaks into a beaming smile. He's come straight from work, still in vest and tie and wearing the ridiculous "I <3 Science" badge that Carlos had brought back for him from Boston the previous month. His tie pin matches the nail polish he'd carefully applied in Carlos' kitchen two nights past, and his pinstriped trousers end in - and oh, _that's_ new - neat, shining, black stilettos.

All of a sudden - and Carlos kicks himself for it not half a second later - his stomach turns over, his breath catches, and there's a sudden cold fist around his heart. He shakes himself internally, then leans up, a little higher than usual, for a kiss. Cecil holds the car door open for him. "Shall we?"

  
2.

Carlos had never really not been out to his close friends, and his family had guessed he was gay when he was fourteen, but it was only in college that he'd started dating. Ever keen to learn, he'd sat in on a few gender studies lectures in his first semester, and there, he'd learned the word _queer_ and he'd liked the way they talked about gender as performative. Encouragement to question, and then to play with, arbitrary social norms had appealed to the logician in him.

He'd seen the Rocky Horror Picture Show with a group of friends, having let a housemate loose on him with bright blusher and spare lace, and he hadn't worried about pictures going online as he'd been surrounded by people in much more elaborate drag. He had joined the GSA, woken up at weekends with glitter embedded in whichever geeky t-shirt he'd worn dancing the previous night, and he'd dated and explored with the unbridled enthusiasm that he had always brought to anything new and exciting.

He'd worried, often, about friends and boyfriends who'd flagged as more obviously queer than him - science t-shirts and flannel would never get a second look, but others would come even to lectures in eyeliner and tight jeans, or meander home in hotpants after late nights out, noisy laughter and spilled feathers in their wake, apparently oblivious to groups of frat boys and police.

Carlos had soon found himself gravitating towards dating the more masculine-looking guys, and knew it, and felt guilty, but _god_ , it'd been good to not have to worry about whether a boyfriend would get home safe, or whether he'd ever have to deal with a street fight while on a date. He had helped a friend in the next block over clean up the brick dust and shattered glass that covered her bedroom floor before her roommate, who moonlighted as a drag queen, had come home to see it. Carlos had been outright ashamed of himself when he'd turned down the roommate's offer of a date a few weeks later, and had thrown himself more deeply into work to compensate.

  
3.

In Night Vale, Carlos had noticed immediately that gender and sexuality didn't seem to work in quite the same way - he hadn't been able to help noticing, after a lifetime of registering minute warning signs or markers of safety anywhere he went. He'd been heartened, too, on his first day in town, to hear the man on the radio calling out cultural appropriation quite so loudly. Even so, he'd been cautious: he hadn't yet known what his colleagues would be like, and wasn't sure how he should respond to the grins and whispers directed his way after Cecil had yet again complimented his hair for the whole town to hear, so he'd stayed quiet, professional.

It had only been after they'd started dating, and he'd fielded high-fives from strangers in the street and been taken aside at the Ralph's by Old Woman Josie for a frankly terrifying talk about not hurting Cecil, that Carlos had really realised - this was ordinary. Then, he'd finally started to relax.

  
4.

Cecil walks just as fluidly in heels as he does in loafers, and he strokes the toe of one foot against Carlos' ankle under the table at Gino's. Carlos is still flustered, and still kicking himself internally - an article he'd read a while back had said that internalised homophobia didn't disappear easily, but he's still guilty about the panic he'd felt. Cecil smiles a little at him, and Carlos realises he's also wrestling with something else: the way that something warm and heavy had pooled low in his belly and tugged at his cock upon seeing Cecil waiting for him, the way that Cecil's calves stood out above those tapered heels, and - _oh_ \- the sharp spike that's now running across the top of his foot. Now, _that's_ interesting.

Carlos finds himself blushing and stammering all through the evening, unable to focus, and he pushes Cecil up against his door as soon as it closes. Slides down his body until he's kneeling, hands running over his sides and stomach, mouthing softly over the cock that's already pushing against those tailored pinstripes.

He looks up: shy, heart pounding, but his internal monologue tells him that if he can't be open and honest with Cecil than what can he do, really, so he puts one hand behind Cecil's knee and one hand on to his ankle and carefully lifts up so that Cecil's toe rests on his shoulder, the spike secure against his clavicle. He kisses at the bare instep, curved and exposed under the pressed edge of his trouser leg, and strokes over his calf.

Cecil looks delighted. "You like them?"

 _That's a complicated question_ , thinks Carlos, but outwardly he says, "yes. Yes - Cecil, please - "

"What would you like?" He's gazing down, eyes bright, and Carlos sits back on his heels, buries his face unsuccessfully in Cecil's ankle.

"Can I ... can I be under them? Please?", and Cecil breaks into a broad grin and immediately bends down to Carlos' level to take his reddened face between his palms and kiss him. "Lovely Carlos. Beautiful, brave Carlos. Thank you - so much - for asking."

Cecil kisses his nose, his forehead, then stands up again - he's tall, so tall - puts a toe to his collarbone, and gives him a gentle push backwards. Carlos scrambles to lie flat on his back, right there in Cecil's hallway, and arches his head to look as Cecil walks around him, those stilettos clicking on the floorboards close to his face.

He watches as Cecil slips off one shoe to put his foot flat on the floor, places a hand firm against the wall, and slides the toe of his other foot down Carlos' side. "Is this okay?", and Carlos shivers, whispers, "uh-huh." Cecil slides up his inner thigh and nudges against his balls. "This?", and he nods, and then - _oh, god_ \- there's the sharp heel, pressing in steadily through his jeans. "This?", and he nods again, hardly daring to breathe.

There's a small area at the back of his mind that's making calculations involving mass and surface area and percentage of downward force, and the numbers it comes up with are filling his brain with white noise and sending blood rushing to his cock. Cecil places his foot onto one side of Carlos' ribcage and presses down the tiniest amount - "is this what you'd like?" - and "yes, god, yes, please", and Carlos watches him balance against the wall with both hands and then slowly, steadily shift his weight into the foot that's on his chest, holding his gaze.

It's a tiny fraction of his weight, he knows. He's so careful and so slow, and Carlos takes deep breaths, feeling the extra pressure on his ribs and the sharp edge of the heel digging into him. It is terrifying, and exhilarating, like everything else in this ridiculous town and there's no-one with whom he feels quite so safe as he does with Cecil and that's utterly terrifying too, he realises. He's never been more aware of his breath than he is now. He swears he can feel every electrical impulse flashing through his pounding heartbeat, every pulse of the oxygen in his bloodstream.

Cecil shifts his weight back to his bare foot planted on the floor, moves the stiletto over to the other side, and leans down again, an eyebrow raised in questioning. Carlos nods frantically at him - yes, yes, this is _so_ okay - and as Cecil holds his foot in place, weight pushing down, Carlos breathes hard and deep against the pressure for what seems like an age. Eventually, Cecil lets go and comes down to kneel beside him and kiss him again, rough, breathless, desperate.

Cecil spreads his hands out to surround the sides of his ribcage, the places where his foot had been, and holds them there. Carlos soaks up the warm pressure as he sucks in long breaths, feels Cecil's hands moving outwards along with his ribs. "Good?", Cecil asks. "You okay?" - "yes, god, yes, amazing - is this okay?", and "yes, darling Carlos, yes", and then Cecil's long fingers are quickly undoing his shirt and jeans, pushing his clothes aside and down to leave him mostly naked. As he stands up again, still clothed and immaculate, Carlos hides his blush in his hands.

Cecil drags his foot up Carlos' thigh, bringing his toe to rest against the exposed skin of his balls. Carlos peeks with one eye between splayed fingers, and Cecil's looking at him, eyes shining.

"I'm going to push here. I'd like you to get yourself off for me. Do it slowly. I'm going to watch."

Carlos feels a rush of affection coupled with his shyness - Cecil knows him, understands his kinks so well. He closes his eyes and brings his right hand to his cock and his left to rest lightly on top of the bare foot that's steady by his hip. Cecil's pushing ever so lightly on his balls, and as he strokes upwards for the first time, the soft skin drags against the textured sole, and the sensation's surprising, exquisite.

"Open your eyes, Carlos. I'd like you to watch."

He can't look at Cecil's face just yet - he looks down instead, to where Cecil's shifted his foot so that the heel is now pushing in between his balls and causing just the smallest hint of pain, noticeable and distracting with every stroke. Those shoes: they're beautiful and terrible and captivating, and Carlos is entranced by the way the light shines off the polished leather, the way he can see Cecil's bones outlined in the bare skin disappearing beneath his trousers. It's incredible, and he speeds up -

Cecil laughs above him, and wriggles his heel, sending delicious, scary little bolts of pain into him. "Look at me, Carlos." With effort, Carlos meets his gaze, sees him open his mouth again, and all of a sudden he realises exactly what's going to happen next, and is certain that he might just die, or melt into the ground, with it.

"Look at you, all spread out and naked for me like this", Cecil intones, taking his time. He's talked dirty in bed plenty before, but always whispering right into Carlos' ear, where Carlos can easily bury his face into Cecil's neck or the pillow. Here, he can't even turn his head to hide - he shuts his eyes, then steels himself, opens them to again meet Cecil's.

"I can't begin to tell you how much I love this. Seeing you naked, and turned on, and desperate like this. So exciting, to watch you getting yourself off just for me. Amazing to think that I could just press in _here_ " - he twists the heel again, and Carlos honest-to-God _whimpers_ aloud - "and that that'll get you off so hard for me, when you're here, so trusting, so-" - he grins pointily - "vulnerable. You're glorious, and I love this - that's good, keep going, you're going to come like this for me, aren't you? Come right under this sharp heel, you adore it, don't you, darling, beautiful, perfect Carlos - " and just like that Carlos comes with a shout, arching up (the pressure immediately vanishes from his balls, he registers from far away), he can't see and the blood is hammering through his brain and his fingertips, everything is radio static, the rug scrapes against his back and he arches up again, and then it's over.

An age later, he comes back, blinks his eyes open blearily. His hand and belly are sticky and Cecil is lying down beside him, squeezing his shoulders and letting him bury his face in his hair. Carlos takes in heaving, ragged breaths.

" ... Oh. Wow. Uh - wow. Thank you."

Cecil says nothing, just presses kisses to his face and hair and strokes his chest gently, where Carlos can still feel his heart pounding away. They lie there, listening to Carlos' breathing returning to normal together. "You okay, love?", Cecil nudges at Carlos' ear with his nose, and he nods in reply. "Let's get you in to the shower, hmm?"

5.

Carlos finds himself thinking, _oh, get over yourself_ , with quite some regularity these days. No one had been more surprised than he in finding Night Vale to be a place where his dating Cecil brought nothing but (only slightly weird) encouragement from strangers, but old habits died hard and he was still ashamed to find himself thinking, _ugh, not the furry pants again_ , or _oh, does he have to get quite so high-pitched on the radio?_ sometimes. He'd kick himself and feel ashamed, and then promptly slip up again a few days later.

He knows Cecil identifies wholeheartedly with masculinity, and that he wears what he does simply because he likes the unusual shapes and textures. He wonders if a concept like drag - loud, sparkling resistance worn on the body, in-your-face, uncompromising - whether that would even make sense here.

He lies looking at the ceiling, stroking a hand quietly through Cecil's hair, his partner curled up against his side. _I don't deserve you_ , Carlos thinks, and _oh, get over yourself, Carlos_ , and aloud he says, "Will you - will you make me pretty, sometime? Just - only a little. Just something I can carry with me that's like you."

"Of course!", Cecil beams, and he scrambles immediately up to dig in his drawers, returning to bed with a little vial of nail polish. "It's just a glittery top coat, this one - it won't be colour, only a light shimmer."

"It's perfect", Carlos smiles, and watches Cecil paint it on with infinite care. It's fine glitter in shades of bronze and gold that match his skin nicely, and his nails will catch the light all that week as he types up notes or measures out samples, reminding him of those same shades on the hands that Cecil is wrapping around his coffee, or using to flick switches on his soundboard.

He's reminded of how Cecil occasionally steals his flannel shirts on cold mornings to wrap himself up in over breakfast, and then wears them in to the radio station over his work clothes - it feels like that, as though he'll be carrying a part of Cecil with him. He realises there's a bit of a giddy pride in wearing this, the same thing he feels when Cecil sighs his name over the radio for the whole lab to hear - there's something there about being Cecil's, and Cecil being his, and the town knowing it, that feels powerful.

A couple of colleagues compliment his hands the next day - "the colour suits you" - and Carlos smiles and tells them it was Cecil who painted them. The next time, they choose solid, bold purples for Carlos' nails, to match the colours of the radio station.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Do come and say hello [on Dreamwidth](http://alreadystardust.dreamwidth.org/) if you'd like.


End file.
